


What's A Name?

by DagReaper (TyJaxReaper)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Gift Exchange, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Steve Rogers, M/M, Names, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 11:32:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7169309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyJaxReaper/pseuds/DagReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What’d that bag do to you,” he heard Steve tease harmlessly, the soldier turning his head to look at the American hero. He had a small smile, like it was there to lighten the mood. James didn’t return it. He only turned back to the bag and reached out his flesh hand to press it to the sand filled fabric, using it as leverage to pull the metal from deep inside. Once it was all the way out and he was freed, he reached up and unhooked the chain holding the bag, letting it drop to the ground. He’d clean up after himself and then he can get back to his... training? Time-wasting? </p><p>“Listen, Buck-,”</p><p>“Don’t call me that,”</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's A Name?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notoneforreality](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoneforreality/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this, I really liked writing it, so you'll probably see way more of this pairing from me.

He was more than aware that he was being watched while he beat the hell into the sandbag, taking most of his frustration out on it, but still pulling his punches. He’d rather not break it off of its chain, especially when he knew that Fury would give him a cautious look. He’d had a few off of him, thinking that maybe James would get angry and lose it or something.

Right now, if felt like Steve was just watching to make sure he didn’t. Like he was baby-sitting him. He didn’t want that, and most of all, from his best friend... Or... who he thought was supposed to be his best friend. He wasn’t too sure since his mind was still screwed up. He had flashes and Steve was in most of them from WWII, almost all of them. He doubted he could actually be like that again, the way he used to be, and he was sure that the other man wanted that more than anything. He remembered calling him ‘ _punk’_ on more than a few occasions and it _did_ bring a smile to his face at the thought. It made him happy to know that he still had great memories and that he hadn’t lost them or hadn’t been completely wiped like everything else. He still remembered that punk and him from Brooklyn, that shabby, little man that just wouldn’t back down and was his all time best friend...

He didn’t know what to call their relationship now. He was as a stranger as the other Avengers were to him, maybe he knew a tiny bit more, but... he really doubted he could be as happy and as solid as before.

... Even his inner monologues made him sound sorry for himself!

James pulled back his left arm, lunging it forward and not so much as feeling, but seeing his metal fist go right through the bag, sand pouring out while the seaming around his hand started to slowly tear with the weight and force he’d put behind the strike. James wasn’t sorry for himself! He was sorry for others. The ones he’d killed, the ones he’d left with a father or mother, even a child or two... He’d hurt so many, that he didn’t get the damn right to feel sorry for himself!

“What’d that bag do to you,” he heard Steve tease harmlessly, the soldier turning his head to look at the American hero. He had a small smile, like it was there to lighten the mood. James didn’t return it. He only turned back to the bag and reached out his flesh hand to press it to the sand filled fabric, using it as leverage to pull the metal from deep inside. Once it was all the way out and he was freed, he reached up and unhooked the chain holding the bag, letting it drop to the ground. He’d clean up after himself and then he can get back to his... training? Time-wasting? The latter sounded better. It’s what he was basically doing.

He heard a sigh leave the other mans’ nose and then a few steps were taken, Steve seeming to walk towards his little corner of the SHIELD training room. He was forced to stay at the Avengers facility, but with a few of said Avengers watching over him, Captain America, Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton and this Vision guy being the few volunteers. “Listen, Buck-,”

“Don’t call me that,” he suddenly growled out, like a deep and low bark. James turned to look at him, his head tilted low as he practically glared. He didn’t mean to, it was just... All of those years being trained as the Winter Soldier, it was sort of hard to shake the mannerisms he’d gained. The low head and glare was when he was told he needed to be wiped. He’d hated it so much that he’d started glaring and scowling and his head dropped forward to show an exceedingly dark response to it, something like what wolves did when they were vicious and bared their teeth. It scared the shit into the HYDRA agents, even shook Pierce, but they knew he wouldn’t attack. Those damn Russian instructions... there was always someone there that could recite them without the book.

“Okay, I won’t,” he hated it when he heard the hurt and wounded emotion slip through into his voice. He felt like he just broke his heart and it pulled on his own, tugged at it to make him feel that mass of guilt spread through him.

“I’m sorry...” he spoke up, his voice quiet and a little cracky. “But... I don’t feel like I’m... Bucky, anymore,” he paused, down casting his eyes and feeling the eyes on him again. “I’m not him... or the Winter Soldier...” at least he didn’t think he was. He still had the anger and training, making him that murderer, and he had that sense of loyalty and memories that made him Bucky. He wasn’t that man, nor the Soldier. He was someone in between.

“Do you remember why everyone called you Bucky?” because he wanted them to. It was a really faint feeling, but he had no memories on that particular thing, not yet anyway. So, he shrugged and kept his attention on Steve. “Because you hated your first name. You said that you wanted a name unique to you and from then on, I called you Bucky from your middle name and everyone else started to, too,” he saw a smile starting to return to the mans’ face, like he was going through the memory himself, just thinking on it and reminiscing. He called him Bucky because he hated his own name... something unique to him... the only thing that made him unique anymore was the fact that he was a murderer with a heavy metal arm...

“James,” he muttered his own first name. He knew it, he remembered it. He got his name back after a couple of weeks of being out of that cryo-ice-thing. He shuddered at the thought of that damn, cold, hollow box.

“You hated that name so much, I recall you being suspended for barking at one of your commanding officers because he wouldn’t call you anything _but_ James, so many threats and name-calling went around,” just imagining the scene brought a smile to his face. He remembered enough to think that it _did_ sound like something he would’ve done all those years ago. It sounded like Bucky, but...

“Steve, listen... I just-,” he paused, licking his lips for a second while trying to think on how he could phrase it, to make it simple for the other man. He took a few steps forward, stopping a few feet away, at a comfortable distance for him. “I’m not ready...” an okay way to start it, he guessed. “-to go to being called Bucky. I’m not that man... and I don’t think I can just... go back to being him either...” before he even finished, Steve was up close, his hands easing out and dropping onto his shoulders and squeezing comfortingly. It took a lot to resist flinching back from him.

“I don’t expect you to, Buc-, _James!_ ” he corrected quickly. “I’m not an idiot,”

“I know you’re not, but can you wait until I finish before you open your mouth?” ... that actually sounded a little Bucky to him. He saw the falter in Steves’ face and in his grip and he saw heard and saw the scoff that left him, the smile growing on his lips.

“Yeah, sorry,”

“I said _I’m not ready to go back to being called Bucky_ ,” he paused, eyeing the man for a few seconds. “Not yet,” he shook his head lightly and then saw the flash of... realization? A sudden understanding? “I will be eventually... I hope,” he added quietly, right before he was dragged into a hug, something that completely stunned him and he instantly went rigid, his entire body fighting against flinching or pulling away.

So instead, he took a deep breath and tried to ease up, forcing his arms to actually move and place his hands on the bigger guys back, hugging him back. He didn’t know... he wasn’t familiar with any of this anymore. Physical intimacy and embracement. It was another thing he had to relearn after the whole HYDRA bullshit.

He hoped that Steve could help with that too. He really needed him now.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope ya'll enjoyed :) let me know what you think, I love feedback and talking to you guys in the comments :)


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